Juvie Hall
by theallbadhat
Summary: Don and Robyn are found in a compromising position in the back of his SUV playing bad boy and cheerleader. As a result, he gets stuck in juvenile detention. Who will come to his rescue? How will Colby take advantage of the situation?
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Numb3rs or character therein. All characters are fictional, and should not be associated with any other person- real or imagined.

Author's note: I you're following DD, I am not letting it slide. I just ran into a slump and thought a couple happy fics would pull me back out again. It seems to have worked, and I should be posting soon.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Robyn slid around Don, subtly jostling his hip with her own. She smiled when she heard him grimace, knowing that it was just enough to grab his interest, but not enough to make him lose control. Those moves would come later, she thought slyly.

They stood before a computer in his cubicle, running a list of numbers that Charlie had given them for the bank case they were working on.

"You're a mean woman," he whispered.

"Naughty, maybe. Mean, not quite yet." She reached over his back and grabbed a pen pegged on a string to the cubicle wall, pressing forward a little more than necessary, her breasts pressing against his shoulder and upper back.

"Why do I put up with this torture?" he moaned.

Positioning herself beside him again, Robyn replied, "Because you love it- and me, too."

"Oh, I almost forgot. With you screwing with me like that, it's an easy thing to do."

"Maybe you could keep your mind on other things if you avoided those kinds of double entendres." Robyn reached for the mouse, sliding her hand across Don's thigh in the process, eliciting a frustrated moan.

"I have got to get some space between us." He pressed his back against the cubicle wall and sidestepped out, thankful he hadn't touched an inch of Robyn's body, though he had almost knocked over a pile of reports balancing on the corner of his desk. They were one of many reasons that Don had been stuck working overtime for several weeks, as the manila folders were full of long forms that had yet to be completed.

"Don't do anything naughty without me," Robyn called after him as he walked towards the staff lounge at F.B.I. headquarters.

Don tried to keep his mind off Robyn, but it was a feat that was beyond him. Her scent still floated in the air and every breath he took filled him with her presence. With every step he took, his jeans tightened briefly along his leg, and he imagined it was her hand squeezing him in all the right places. And the cotton of his t-shirt was still stuck to his back where she had pressed against him, which was usually an uncomfortable feeling but one that sent ripples up and down his skin today.

Man, he thought, you've got it bad.

They had been dating for almost a year now, and things seemed as fresh and exciting as the first night they'd been together. Well, maybe not quite as exciting. Don noted that recently they had become stuck in a routine- every Tuesday and Saturday, and then Friday if neither one of them had to work late, which was never. Because he was an organization freak, the weekly schedule suited him just fine. However, Robyn had indicated she needed something more. And because they were going to address that need tonight, _Thursday night_, he thought with a grin, Robyn had spent the day stroking the desire between them, pumping it for all its worth in anticipation of their foray that night.

Don had no idea where they were going. Robyn told him it was a secret. But he sure knew what they were going to be doing, and he had to admit, he was more than intrigued.

He was all het up.

The only thing she did tell him was that he had to slick his hair back with mousse, wear his black jeans, a white t-shirt, and his black leather jacket. Any other clothing was optional. She was going to leave the office earlier than him, and he would pick her up at home. Until then, he could only imagine what she had in store. Unfortunately for Don, his imagination was vivid, and standing a few inches from Robyn, especially with her touching him like _that,_ was too much for him to take. As he turned toward the staff lounge, he decided to forego the coffee and grab a bottle of water.

Ice cold water.

"_Ooo- I'm so tough. I worked in fugitive recovery for two hundred years. I would have gotten out earlier only I got lost and they had to send someone to recover **me**._"

Some light chuckling made the rounds throughout the meeting room located across the hall from the staff lounge.

"_Ooo- Charlie, I need help. I don't understand how to analyze this list of numbers. If I don't figure it out soon, I might accidentally pay an extra **dime** for somebody else's lunch_."

Loud bursts of laughter filled the meeting room.

"_Ooo- Robyn, I'm so glad you can keep a secret. I'm the bureau's superhero and you're the only one who knows I wear **tights** under my jeans_."

Crisp laughter and light clapping spilled out of the meeting room and into the bullpen.

"_Ooo_"-

"Colby, I hope you have an explanation for this?" Don stepped two feet into the room, his meanest scowl cutting a clear path through the jovial atmosphere to land right at the feet of the younger agent.

Colby gulped.

He had been assigned to give fifteen new recruits a tour of their department. It had, of course, been a boring assignment. Colby had led the group of men throughout the bullpen, describing each section and giving an overview of their current assignments, attempting to make the work sound as interesting as possible. But what the day really boiled down to was him showing a bunch of early-twenties-right-out-of-spoiled-rich-kid-college-wannabes how a typical office works. And it hadn't taken long for his audience to start yawning and looking at their watches. They were clearly unimpressed with their department, and more importantly, at least to Colby, with the man who was their guide.

This bothered Colby, because he knew the recruits had nothing on him. He had not grown up rich, but he hadn't been anything near poor, either. And unlike them, he had not chosen to go directly into the F.B.I.; he had opted to do something he felt was honorable and beyond compare, and that was to join the military. After serving time in Afghanistan and having gotten in his fair share of licks with the Bureau, Colby was convinced that they should have been impressed, if not with the office, then with the war veteran and cocky agent who was trying to keep their attention. But they refused to show him even a little bit of appreciation.

That is, until they had come to this meeting room and one of them had asked Colby about the man who ran their department- Special Agent Don Eppes. He wasn't sure how, but Colby had gone from describing Don as a friend to describing him as a boss, inspired by the unwanted-but-still-there need to gain their approval, and sure enough, it being the end of the workday and spurred on by the agents' sudden smiles and attentiveness, he had found himself doing the typical impersonation of his superior that so many workers worldwide tended to do of their own. Only, most workers knew to be a little more careful. Like, making sure their boss was not within a two-floor range of wherever they were mocking him, and definitely being careful enough to lock the door of wherever they were performing. They were common sense precautions that all workers were well-informed about.

Unfortunately, Colby had missed those memos.

"Just, uh, showing these new men where we have meetings, that's all." Colby ignored the smirks suddenly appearing on the faces of the men before him.

"Really, that's interesting." Don took three more steps forward. "Because, for a minute there, I thought, now get this 'cause you're really going to laugh, I actually thought you may have been making fun of me." Don laid his hand on his chest as emphasis.

"Oh, no Don- I would never, ever even begin to get the tiniest little thought about doing something like that."

"Really, that's interesting," Don repeated. Then he strode forward until he was almost nose to nose with Colby. Don was a shade shorter than him, but he more than made up the difference in height with his authoritative stance. "I may be wrong, Granger, but I'm sure I heard you mention fugitive recovery. Do you know someone else who's worked in fugitive recovery?"

Colby glanced at the faces of the young agents sitting behind Don. They were all grinning and Colby knew why: he was about to be reamed.

Not wanting to disappoint, Don spent the next ten minutes assaulting Colby with a verbal onslaught that was so harsh the younger agent thought it would have been less painful if Don had chosen to use his fists. Throughout the tirade, Colby's eyes darted from Don's to those of the recruits, who had all opted to remain in the room; he was angered to know that now they would not only have little respect, if any, for him, but he was sure that he had become easy fodder for any jokes they would make amongst themselves in the future.

Don finished Colby's dressing down by saying, "I'm not sure what consequence is appropriate in this situation, Colby, but trust me, when I decide what it is, you'll be the first to know." With that ominous warning, Don turned and stormed from the room.

Colby waved the recruits away, sullenly sinking into a seat as his imagination was as vivid as Don's, and he easily conjured up all types of painful punishment, deciding the worst one was desk duty doing paperwork- piles and piles of it, no end in sight.

When Don got back to his cubicle, his fuse had already burned out, his mind quickly back on his date that night. He was puzzled but thankful when he saw that Robyn was no longer at his desk; she had written him a note reminding him to pick her up in an hour. Don glanced at the time, surprised it was almost six o'clock. Looking about his desk, he noticed the large stack of folders still sitting on its corner. Smiling, Don picked them up and walked three cubicles down, depositing them on Colby's desk, knowing no explanations or directions would be required. As an afterthought, though, he left a personal message:

_Consider this a hard lesson learned- never mess with a superior._

Back at his desk, Don noticed another note stuck to the computer. It was an order from Merrick to stop by his office on his way out.

"Sir, you wanted to see me?" Don stepped into Merrick's office at his invitation.

"Yes, Don, it's about these new recruits. They've been given the full tour of the Bureau offices, and now, at the request of Director Donaldson, he would like them to familiarize themselves with other aspects of the legal system, specifically, the courts."

"Are you asking me to take them to a trial?" Don asked.

"Well, it doesn't have to be any specific trial. If they can just get inside a courtroom, they'll be able to see how important the proper handling of evidence is when it is used during the actual prosecution stage."

"Fine, I'll set up a field trip for next Wednesday."

"No, Don. I want it done tomorrow morning. Donaldson's coming early next week and I would like him to know that we fulfilled his request."

Don sat thinking about this for a few minutes. If he and Robyn had a good time that night, and he was certain they would, getting up early the next morning was not something he would be looking forward to; as a matter of fact, he had planned on calling off sick, so getting out of bed hadn't even been an option worth considering. Perplexed by his predicament, Don tried to think of a reason for opting out of the assignment without displeasing Merrick.

Then he remembered Colby.

"Sir, is it required that I escort the recruits myself?"

"Well, no Don, the director did not specify a particular agent. I only assumed you would want the assignment."

"Normally that would be the case, but quite frankly, I haven't been feeling too well," he lied through his teeth, "I was feeling a little hot earlier this evening, and am afraid that I may have to call off tomorrow."

"That's unusual," Merrick eyed him distrustfully, "I've never known you to call off before, but if you have someone else in mind?"

"Yes," Don grinned. "I most certainly do."

As Don was packing up to leave, Colby came around the corner of the cubicle, a file in his hand. "We have to talk, Don."

"No," Don straightened up. "There is nothing left to discuss. You're stuck with that assignment- I'm not giving it to someone else."

"But, Don. I don't want to play babysitter to a bunch of newbies. They were a pain in the ass today, and they'll be a pain in the ass tomorrow. I don't even see the point in all of this."

"Colby," Don crossed his arms and leaned against his desk, wanting to make sure everyone could see who was boss, replaying Merrick's words from earlier, "Every new recruit needs to completely familiarize himself with the legal system, and that includes the courts. I'm sorry that the assignment is not one that interests you, but I'm not giving it to someone else."

"But Don, I have all this paperwork to do."

"But Colby, you wouldn't have all this paperwork to do if you didn't waste so much of your time performing for the troops."

Colby shook the file at Don. "This isn't fair. I'm receiving two punishments for one behavior."

"Actually," Don noted as he grabbed his jacket and prepared to leave, "I could give you one for each comment you made."

Colby wasn't sure exactly how much of his act Don had caught, but he chanced further discipline by trying to appeal to him as one man to another. "Don, I have a hot date tonight- you know Julie over in accounting? She finally agreed to go out with me, and I was planning to call in late tomorrow, you know what I mean."

Don was about to respond, but Charlie appeared, carrying his laptop. "Hey, Don, I hope you don't mind me showing up so late- I wanted to see how far you got with that bank case"-

"I'm sorry, but I was about to leave. Would you mind working on your own for a while?"

"Sure, I work faster that without you guys helping anyway."

Don and Colby rolled their eyes.

While Charlie began setting up, Colby attempted to sway Don once again. "Come on, have a heart. You have a girlfriend already- you gotta share the wealth."

"Colby," Don said, patting him on the back, "sometimes it can be painful learning the meaning of the word respect." Then he took off, leaving a fuming Colby behind him.

"What's the matter?" Charlie asked while he fiddled with the computer.

"What's the matter? I'll tell you what's the matter- your brother has no sense of humor."

"Really?" Charlie faked a surprised look, letting his eyes go wide.

"Yeah, really." Colby sat in Don's seat, sulking. "So what if I did an impromptu impersonation of Don? Does he actually think nobody else makes fun of him- I mean, he's the boss? No one means anything by it and everybody does it, so why should I be different?"

"You don't have to be different," Charlie pointed out. "But you do have to be more careful."

"Yeah, well you're about ten seconds too late with that advice."


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Numb3rs or the characters therein. All characters are fictional, and should not be associated with any other person- real or imagined.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Don had express directions to wait in his SUV and honk the horn, _loudly_, until Robyn came out of her house. He was used to going to her door and escorting her out, so he found it odd that she would want him to make all that noise instead. It was twenty minutes past the time they were to meet, and he was getting impatient. About to honk the horn again, Don looked at the house and did a double-take, his hand sliding off the steering wheel and into the dash as he almost keeled over.

Robyn was coming out of the house- no, she was _bouncing _out of the house, in a bright yellow cheerleader's outfit, complete with pom-poms, midriff shirt, short-short skirt, and, _oh please_, Don prayed, really, really prayed- spankies. She came up to the passenger door window and he rolled it down, his eyes bulging and sweat starting to coat every last inch of his body. Twirling a long ribbon-wrapped ponytail, Robyn blew a bubble until it popped, and then began to smack the gum loudly as she started to speak.

"Donny, my parents hate it when you don't come to the door. We better leave quick before they change their minds about us going out."

Swallowing real slow, Don nodded and unlocked the door; gladly going along with the role play, he leaned across to the passenger door, throwing it open so Robyn could get in. When she flopped into her seat and dropped the pom-poms on the floor, the truck rocked a little, causing vibrations to tap up Don's spine and back down again, settling in an area that needed no further coaxing.

"Gee, Donny, this is so cool. I bet none of the other guys have a car as _big_ as yours." Robyn batted her eyes at him innocently.

Damn! Don thought. I don't think I can drive with her looking like that.

"What's the matter, Donny," Robyn leaned toward him and purred, quickly changing into a seductress. She took his hand and placed it on the truck's gear shift, keeping hers on top and massaging the back of his hand with a gentle touch. "Need help _getting it in gear_?"

Don tried to talk, but all that came out was a jumble of words. His mind was muddled with the desire to have her, and he couldn't come up with a coherent thought whether alone words that would make any sense. Robyn sat back in her seat with a Cheshire grin, putting her seatbelt on and wiggling in her seat, crossing her legs oh so carefully, and then gingerly pulling up the side of her skirt, just enough for Don to see the sleek fabric of the spankies she wore underneath.

That little peek was just enough to knock Don out his dazed state. He suddenly realized he was no way going to get a touch of _that_ if they kept sitting in the front of Robyn's house. Putting the car in drive, he carefully pulled out into the street, keeping his eyes on the road because he knew one more look at Robyn and he'd be driving up a wall.

"So, Donny," Robyn toyed with a lock of hair just below his ear, distracting him so much that he almost ran a red light, "Where are you taking me to eat?"

Okay, now he was stumped. She was the one who was supposed to know where they were going, and now she was asking him? Thinking hard about the role he was playing, Don decided the most appropriate place (other than the nearest hotel) would have to be a drive-in; hopefully, one with the quickest service on the face of the earth.

"Well, doll-face, I thought we might head over to our usual hangout, get us a couple double-cheeseburgers and some root beer floats."

"Mmm. That sounds so good." She leaned towards him, her tongue darting out and barely licking the corner of his mouth. "Just talking about it is _wetting_ my appetite."

Don couldn't respond. His mouth was dry and his vision was becoming unfocused. Driving as quickly as he could without causing an accident, he pulled into the nearest drive-in and proceeded to order before the carhop could even give them menus. When their food arrived, Don gulped his down in less than five minutes and then impatiently waited while Robyn ate hers, groaning when she began doing obscene things to her straw with her tongue.

"Please, Robyn. This is getting to be too much."

Robyn gave Don the once-over. His jeans were really tight tonight and his leather jacket fit snugly on his shoulders, the t-shirt underneath clinging to his chest and emphasizing every muscle. It was enough to make her decide that she couldn't wait any longer either, so she gave one last swirl of her tongue around the straw and then handed Don the remains of her dinner. "Okay, take Highway One and keep going till I tell you where to get off. And then, _we'll _be all set to _get off._"

Don drove for a half hour until Robyn pointed to an exit, directing him to take a road that led up into the darkness of the hills. Another fifteen minutes later and they came out onto a plateau, the nightlights of L.A. shining brightly miles below them.

"There's a spot," Robyn pointed to a small area of grass. As Don pulled in, his headlights fell on a small collection of cars, trucks and minivans, all parked parallel to each other and facing the city. He squeezed his SUV between two vehicles and shut off his engine.

"Where exactly are we?" he asked.

For some reason, he was really not surprised to hear her reply. "Make-out Mountain, silly."

Taking off his seatbelt and reaching for her, Don grinned. "Do I even want to know how you found out about this place?'

"I do have a couple nephews, you know. And they like to brag."

"I think I'll have bragging rights after tonight," Don grinned, undoing Robyn's seatbelt and running a hand up her thigh until- _yeah, that's it, spankies_.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Quickly deciding to climb over the forward seats into the back of the SUV, Don let Robyn slip over first and then handed her the pom-poms one by one, determined to figure out a way to incorporate them into their little affair. As he was heading into the back himself, Don felt the familiar nudge of his gun in his side. Slipping it and his badge off, he locked them up in his glove compartment before he tumbled into the middle seat, and then gracelessly fell into the rear, rearranging his body on top of Robyn's once he figured out her position.

Three hours later and they were still in the back of the truck, lying half-dressed and fully spent. Robyn curled around Don as best she could, thinking the next time she would give him ample warning so he'd have the middle seat down before they arrived, which would give them more room to maneuver.

Don brushed a wet strand of hair from her face and whispered in her ear, "What do you think, one more for the road?"

Before Robyn could reply, the plateau was suddenly lit up with brilliant lights that bore into the parked vehicles and blinded all the occupants inside.

"All right, come on out. We know you're in there."

"Who the hell is that?" Don asked, reaching for his boxers and slipping them on. Robyn pulled on her top and searched for her skirt, finding it stuffed in a corner.

While she slid into her clothes, she replied, "I don't know. It sounds like the cops." Then she began to laugh.

"This isn't funny," Don grumbled. "Where the hell are my pants?"

Robyn sat up and twisted around. "I think you threw them up front, with your jacket and shoes."

"Damn!" Don found his t-shirt and had just pulled it over his head when someone knocked at the back of the truck.

"All right, kids. Party's over. Come on out or we'll break the lock."

"Crap!" Don quickly slid down to the rear of the truck, ignoring the rug burn he was getting on his legs. He unlocked the gate and pushed its two doors open, putting a hand over his eyes as he tried to locate the body that went with the voice.

Out of nowhere, a hand grabbed his arm and pulled him unceremoniously from the truck. When his feet hit the ground, he felt a palm push him forward until he was standing amidst a group of teenage boys.

"That's the last one, Howard," a disembodied voice spoke from the haze caused by the lights. Then, just as quickly as they had come, they were extinguished.

With yellow dots dancing before his eyes, it took Don a couple minutes before he could see. Then he surveyed the surrounding area. There were twelve high school boys milling about him, with several police officers here and there corralling them all in a circle, their flashlights bobbing up and down so that the view of the area was now only half-lit. Don could see beyond their guards to his SUV, where Robyn was arguing with the man who looked like he was in charge. Leaning forward a bit, Don could just make out what they were saying.

"Officer, come on, you can't be serious- do I really look like I'm seventeen?" With darkness hiding her face, Don didn't think he could discern Robyn's age, either.

"Miss Brooks, I don't know what kind of game you're playing. If you are actually eighteen or older, just simply show me an I.D." Don watched as the man held out his hand.

"But I didn't bring an I.D. with me; there was no place to put it in my, my"-

"Cheerleader's outfit," the man finished for her. "Yes, all the women I know in their thirties love to hang out at Make-Out Mountain wearing cheerleader's outfits. Why, just last week, I told my wife she needed to cut back on all the time she's been spending up here dressed exactly like that."

"I suppose your snide remarks are the result of the _extensive_ training you've obviously received at the College of Rude and Ignorant." Robyn told the officer haughtily. Uh, oh, Don thought, she's no longer finding humor in the situation and is getting mad. That was never good; when Robyn got mad during an argument, she put all rational thought aside and usually ended up responding with her own sarcastic retorts, putting off the very people she was trying to persuade.

"Well, missy, I think I've had just about enough of your smart aleck mouth. Lucky thing for you we only gather up the boys. Otherwise, I'd gladly see you spending a night in juvenile detention yourself." With that, the man turned from her, ignoring the descriptive comments Robyn started making about his lineage and the possibility that his parents were more than just a _little_ related.

The man approached Don and the rest of the boys, pausing to stand in front of them with his hands behind his back as he addressed them. "I am Officer Mitchell, and I am here to inform you that each and every one of you has broken curfew. Now, we are going to take you downtown in the paddy wagon, and hold you overnight. We'll let you call your parents when we get to the detention center, but you will not be released until you appear before the judge tomorrow morning. Any questions?"

Don meekly raised his hand.

"You, son."

"Uh, actually, I don't belong here"- Don began, but was interrupted by Mitchell.

"Of course you don't. How do you think your parents are going to react when they find out where we picked you up?" Then he added, "And especially on a school night."

"No, that's not what I mean. It you take a good look at me, you'll see I'm over eighteen."

Don waited while the man got closer to him, and then flashed a light onto his face. To his dismay, Don realized the guy had to be half-blind. He appeared to be in his sixties and was wearing a pair of glasses that were so thick a nail driven in one side would not have protruded out the other.

"Hmm. Don't look quite eighteen to me, if you want my honest opinion, son." Mitchell turned to leave.

Desperate, Don called after him, "Compare me to these other boys and it'll be easy to tell I'm older- much older."

Mitchell stepped back and looked each of the boys over. When he was done, he commented to Don, "Seems like you're the _youngest_ one here, son. At least, you sure are the _smallest_."

For the first time Don took a good look at the boys next to him, and he realized Mitchell was correct- they were _all _taller than him.

Trying one last ditch effort, Don loudly proclaimed, "For Pete's sake- I'm with the F.B.I. Just let me get into my truck and I'll show you my I.D."

Mitchell started to laugh, pounding the back of another officer as they walked away. "That's the best one I've heard in a long time. Almost as good as the kid who was with the crime scene unit; boy claimed he and his girlfriend were reenacting a sex crime, you remember him, that redhead…" Don listened as Mitchell's voice faded into the darkness.

The flashlights of the police officers suddenly flicked off, and Don was herded with the rest of the group into the waiting paddy wagon. As he climbed in, Don motioned to Robyn, hoping she understood that she should take the truck and meet him at the detention hall. He was positive that once they got there the mix-up would be solved.

At least, he prayed it would.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Numb3rs or the characters therein. All characters are fictional, and should not be associated with any other person- real or imagined.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"So, how long you've been dating that cheerleader." A tall, thin blond boy stood in front of Don as they were paraded into the detention center and were forced into a line, a male officer asking each boy his name in turn and speedily filling out a form before sending them on.

"Uh, about a year now," Don replied, looking around for Robyn.

"Man, she is totally hot- way to go," Blondie said, holding out his hands for Don to slap. Complying, Don winced at the sting caused by the clashing of skin on skin.

"My girlfriend is into graphic art, mega-Anime freak, if you know what I mean," Blondie continued to talk as they moved up the line.

Don had positioned himself so he would be last, hoping it would buy him enough time until Robyn got there. Of course, it didn't, as he soon found himself in front of the admitting officer, one Officer Jones, who said, "Name please," withou raising his eyes from the paper in front of him.

Don crossed his arms and refused to respond. This is getting way too ridiculous, he thought.

Jones asked once again, "Name please." When Don still gave no response, Jones put down his pen and without giving Don so much as a look, he nodded to a heavily built guard standing in the corner. Don shriveled when the guard took three steps and stood nose to nose with him, barking in his face, "Now, we can do this the nice way or the hard way- and I guarantee you, if we do it the hard way you're gonna have a limp for the rest of your life."

Gulping, Don whispered, "Agent Don Eppes, F.B.I."

"Okay, Don Eppes," Officer Jones wrote down, his eyes glued to the paper once again, "age?"

"Thirty-five."

Without lifting his head, Jones spoke to the guard. "What do you say, Schmitt, give me an age."

Schmitt, who Don decided was either dumber than an ox or blinder than a bat, or a combination of both, answered, "Thirteen, maybe fourteen."

"Let's err on the cautious side, and put thirteen. We're pretty full in the high school block and this way we can stick him with the juniors." Jones asked for address and parents' names, and Don stared at the ceiling, answering all further questions in a monotone. After the forms were completed and Don had signed his name, he was being led away by another officer when Robyn appeared, carrying his clothes in her right arm and pulling a Lieutenant Goodson with the other.

"Don, thank goodness you're still here." Robyn tossed him his clothes and he quickly began to put them on, tugging his jeans up his legs and fastening the buckle of his belt. "See, Lieutenant Goodson, it has to be clear to you that the man before you is _not _under the age of eighteen."

"No, of course not, Miss Brooks. I am so sorry for the mistake." Goodson stood before Jones and chided him. "Officer Jones, did you not think the man before you a little old for our detention center?"

For the first time that night, the admitting officer set his eyes on Don, blanching when he realized he had made a mistake- a terrible, terrible mistake. "To be honest, sir, I never really looked at him." Jones began to nervously tap his pen on the table. "We do have a problem, sir."

Don listened to their conversation as he put his arms through his leather jacket and pulled the zipper up halfway. "What problem? Just sign me out and I'll be out of your hair for the rest of your life."

"Uh, that's the problem, sir," Jones ignored Don and continued to talk to Goodson, "Once a minor is admitted, they're stuck here until they appear before the judge and he releases them to their parents or guardians."

Don stated the obvious, "I'm not a minor, so those rules don't apply to me."

"Actually, sir," Jones told Goodson, Don becoming increasingly irritated because he was being talked about as if he was not in the room, "the law doesn't specify minor, it just says 'detainee'. Of course, it probably means minor, and it probably was never expected that we would admit a grown man, but there you have it. I can't sign his release form- the judge has to approve it first, and then one of his parents has to come sign him out."

"This is insane," Robyn said. She walked up to Don and took his hand, attempting to pull him with her. But Schmitt interceded her and grabbed Don by his upper arm, tearing him away from Robyn and pushing him toward the entrance to the detainment center and the officer waiting to escort him just inside.

"Now, wait a minute!" Don griped. "You can't keep me here." He pleaded with his eyes to Robyn, who poked Lieutenant Goodson in the arm.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Brooks, Agent Eppes," Goodson said apologetically, "but Jones is correct. We have no form that deals with this issue and there is no way to sign you out without first having a judge release you. My suggestion to you, Agent Eppes, is to get a good night's sleep, and you'll be out first thing in the morning." Goodson began walking away, calling over his shoulder as he was about to exit the door, "Oh, and contact one of your parents. You'll be stuck here another night if they don't appear in court for you tomorrow."

Don stood with his mouth agape; then Schmitt turned him around and pushed him the rest of the way into the detention center, the door closing loudly behind him as an officer began to lead him away.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Don sat on the edge of the bed, which was really no more than a cot. He had been given a sandwich and a glass of milk to drink, and then he had been allowed to use the bathroom.

They had let him use the phone, but he had been disappointed when nobody answered at Charlie's house; and not knowing how to explain his predicament, he hadn't been able to leave a message.

When he finished with his attempt to reach his dad, the officer in charge of the junior ward had given him a set of fresh blankets and sheets to make his bed. They had run out of pillows, so he would have to do without. Don had found the most irritating part of the whole experience thus far had been the fact that nobody seemed to notice he was a thirty-five year old man. He had found that the sad reason for that was simply that the detainees in the detention hall were not really people to their guards, but more like indistinguishable bodies that changed daily and weekly, and whose features tended to blend together as a whole. Being an overworked public servant himself, though, Don found it somewhat possible to forgive them their oversight.

After making his bed, Don lay down and tried to sleep. He was awakened by the harsh whispering of a kid lying on the cot beside his.

"Hey, man. I like your jacket. Is that real leather?" The kid was tall and thick, with tinted black hair.

Don turned away from the boy and deliberately did not answer the question. He just wanted to get some sleep. But then a hand shook his shoulder hard.

"Hey, man. Don't ignore me. I asked you a question- _is that real leather?_"

Trying to be as polite as he could, Don said over his shoulder, "Yeah, now if you don't mind, I'd like to get some sleep."

Don heard a rustling sound as if some blankets had been moved, and then some creaking noises as several sets of feet padded across the wooden floor till they stopped next to his bed.

_Oh, boy, now what_.

"I hate to tell you," the same boy spoke again, this time with a clear threat in his voice, "but I do mind you sleeping. I think you better take _my_ leather jacket off first. Otherwise, it'll get all wrinkly."

Don rolled over on the bed and threw his feet over the side. He stood up to his full height and confronted the three junior high school boys who stood before him. But then Don's heart skipped a beat when he realized that all three boys were even with him in height and weight.

_When did women in this country start giving birth to giants?_

The kid who had first talked to him was now joined with his buddies standing menacingly on either side of him, one with bright orange hair and the other bleached blond. Ignoring the fact that he was outnumbered by three to one, and that all three of them were almost as muscularly built as he was, Don crossed his arms and gave them his meanest scowl, the same one that earlier in the day had sent fear into the heart of Colby.

"This is _my_ jacket, and I am going to sleep. So, I suggest you march right back to your own beds and _shut up_."

Satisfied with his performance, Don was about to climb back into bed when the first boy pushed him in the shoulder.

"Give me _my_ jacket."

Fed up with the events of the day and refusing to allow a bunch of snot-nosed brats push him around, Don stood face to face with the kid and cracked his knuckles loud enough for everyone in the room to here.

"Now listen punk, I don't want to hurt you, but if you leave me no choice…"

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Colby stood at Don's desk, trying to decide which court house he should take the new recruits. He had cut his date short the night before, and he was feeling extremely perturbed that he would be spending yet another day with them. This aggravation was further fueled by the fact that he had already overheard them making remarks about him behind his back, and it pained him to no end that he had gone down more than a few knots in their eyes. _Not that they had thought much about me to begin with_, he lamented to himself.

Charlie was sitting next to him, still working on the bank case, having spent the entire night at the F.B.I. office. He glanced up at Colby, "Why don't you just take them to a federal trial? Those are the kinds that concern them most."

"Because it is a pain to go through security, even with our credentials. Besides, we didn't leave here early enough, and all the seats are probably filled by now. There's a big murder case going on and according to Nadine, all the court watchers have been faithfully turning up to record how the proceedings are going."

Just then, Charlie's phone rang. "Eppes," he answered, sitting back in his seat.

He heard the sound of his brother's voice desperate on the phone. "Charlie, it's me- Don. Whatever you do- don't hang up. I only get one phone call."

Charlie suddenly sat forward, his ears wide open. "Don, are you in jail?"

His interest definitely tweaked, Colby subtly inched towards Charlie, trying to overhear both ends of the conversation. "I am and I'm not. Where's Dad?"

"What do you mean you are and you're not? You can't be both."

"Charlie," Don pleaded through the phone, "Will you just listen to me? I need to get a hold of Dad- like, yesterday already."

Concerned, Charlie ran a hand through his hair. "Dad's out of town until Monday. He and Donna went up to San Diego for a little three-day getaway."

Charlie listened as Don moaned through the phone. It was too much for him to take. "That's it Don- either tell me what's wrong or I'm going to hang up."

"No," Don said quickly, "Don't. I'll tell you what's wrong if you swear to me you won't tell anyone else. And I mean it- do you swear?"

Charlie swore himself to secrecy and then listened as Don told him his woeful tale. When he had finished, it took all of three seconds for Charlie to burst out laughing. "You have got to be kidding me."

"I would never joke about something like this," Don barked into the phone. "Will you please just come down here and see if they'll release me to you. I think once the judge sees the mistake they made, he'll be happy to oblige."

"Okay, okay. But you'll owe me big time. What time do I have to be there?"

"Ten o'clock. And Charlie- don't forget, you swore not to tell anyone."

"I know. You should feel lucky to have a brother like me."

When Charlie hung up the phone, he turned to tell Colby he would be leaving for the day.

But to his surprise, the agent had disappeared.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer:I do not own the rights to Numb3rs or the characters therein. All characters are fictional, and should not be associated with any other person- real or imagined.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Don sat on the bench waiting to be called. He kept looking around for Charlie, but could not see him anywhere. He did see Robyn, who sat as close as she could and waved, mouthing to him the words _I'm sorry. _When his name was finally called, Don stood before the judge, who looked at him, cleaned his glasses, and then looked at Don once again.

"Uh, aren't you just a tad bit too old to be in my courtroom?"

"I've spent the last twelve hours trying to convince your local police officers of just that fact." Don stepped from one foot to the other, his bare feet cold on the linoleum floor.

The judge stared down at Don. "Is that all you were wearing when you were admitted last night?"

Laughter came from a trio of boys sitting in a pew at the side of the room, their cases having already been heard and all three of them waiting for their parents to finish filling out paperwork. Don looked at them and glared. Turning his attention back to the judge, he said, "Well, no. Somehow my jacket, my jeans, and my shoes were all misplaced."

More laughter came from the same direction.

"The cops didn't rough you up last night, did they? You seem to be have a few bruises about you and," the judge pointed at Don's right eye, "it looks like you have the beginnings of a nice shiner there."

The trio guffawed at the judge's remarks, slapping their legs mockingly with their hands.

Hitting his gavel, the judge looked over at the three boys. "Is there a problem over there?" he asked.

"No, sir," the orange-headed one said. "No problem at all." He tapped his new shoes loud enough for Don to hear.

Don curled his toes angrily.

"Then I suggest you keep it quiet," the judge snapped. His attention on Don once again, the judge stated, "I'm not sure what to make of the fact that you're appearing in a juvenile court, but you _are _Don Adam Eppes, correct?"

Before Don could respond, a small commotion occurred at the back of the courtroom. Charlie was striding quickly down the aisle, following an older but faster-moving figure. When they approached the front of the court, Don's mouth dropped open. They pushed through the little doors that separated the audience from the judge, and stood beside Don.

Through gritted teeth, Don whispered to Charlie, "Why did you have to bring _her_?"

"Because," Charlie whispered back, making sure she couldn't hear him, "I had no choice. I called before I came and they said you couldn't be released to me because all I am is your brother. Apparently, you can only be released to a parent, a guardian, or, in case they are unavailable, they'll settle for an"-

Charlie was cut off by the short and rotund white-haired woman standing to Don's right, her voice booming as she spoke to the judge.

"I'm Donny's Aunt Irene, and I want to know what's going on-

_Right this minute_."

The judge looked over the top of his glasses at Aunt Irene. "Madam, we were just about to discuss that very fact. Now," he said to Don, "Once again, you _are _Don Adam Eppes, correct?" The judge held up the form that Officer Jones had filled out the night before. "The same one I have listed on this paperwork as being all of _thirteen years old_?"

Don turned red with embarrassment when laughter rippled through the courtroom. Everyone's attention was firmly planted on the thirty-five year old man in boxers and t-shirt who oddly stood before a juvenile court, nobody noticing as sixteen men in suits and ties silently entered the back of the courtroom and hid in seats along the far wall, their interest in the proceedings heightened by the fact that they all knew Don personally-though, one much more personally than the others.

Irene spoke up, trying to clear up the confusion. "Oh, dear, that's not right at all. I don't believe Donny could possibly be only thirteen years old- after all, it _has_ been quite some time since his bar mitzvah. My memory might not be all that it used to be, but I'm pretty sure he has to be older than that. Now let me see, are you fifteen or sixteen, Donny- you know, I'm usually off by a year."

More laughter came from the court room audience. Don tried to hide deep inside himself, his shoulders slumping and his chin falling to his chest.

"Ow!" Don cried, rubbing his bottom and frowning at the old woman who had smacked it.

"Don't slouch, Donny. Stand up straight." When Don did not do as he was told, Aunt Irene smacked him again, garnering another loud ripple of laughs from the people sitting behind them.

Don quickly stood up straight, and lifted his chin, jutting it forward as far as he could.

"Well," the judge said cynically, "Now that we have that cleared up, let us address the reason why you were brought here to begin with."

As sarcastically as he could, Don said, "You mean because you have morons posing as police officers?"

"Ow!"

"Don't take that tone of voice with one of your elders, Donny, show them some respect," Aunt Irene scolded Don. Rubbing his bottom again, Don became pissed off when he realized that Charlie, the man who had betrayed him by bringing the wrinkled tyrant, was still standing beside him and laughing harder than anyone else in the room.

Without thinking, Don complained to the old woman, "Dammit, Aunt Irene. I'm too old for you to be smacking me on the behind."

"Ow!" Don put a hand to the side of his head. Aunt Irene had cuffed him on the ear.

"And don't use that kind of language around me." She then faced the judge, urging him on in a kinder and more respectful tone, "Go on, we're listening."

The judge opened his mouth to say something, but stopped when he saw Lieutenant Goodson slip in through a side door and approach the bench from the his left. Don was relieved to see the man, partially reading his lips and glad to see someone was using the terms 'mistake', and 'F.B.I. agent' when talking about him. This relief, however, was short-lived when Goodson disappeared and the judge looked at Don, a mischievous grin on his face.

_Uh, oh, this is not good. _

_This is really not good._

Having had a long week, and enjoying the spectacle that Don being in his courtroom was causing, plus finding it funny as hell that an F.B.I. agent had ended up there to begin with, the judge decided to milk it for all it was worth. Taking a very serious tone of voice, the judge began questioning Don as if he really were a minor.

"Donny, I see here you were picked up for breaking curfew. What were you doing out so late on a school night?"

Stubbornly, Don refused to play along, hoping the judge would give up on the game he was obviously wanting to play before he even got started. Aunt Irene dashed those hopes when she cuffed his ear, harder than before.

"Ow!'

"Answer the man, Donny. Do you plan on standing around here all day?"

_Dammit!_ Don wisely thought, instead of speaking out loud.

"I was out with my girlfriend," Don muttered while he let his eyes take a slow trip towards the ceiling.

"Ow!" Don covered his ear.

"Speak up, Donny," Aunt Irene demanded, "And don't you roll those eyes again."

Loud, loud laughter in the courtroom.

After taking a deep breath and blowing it out his nose, Don spoke with deliberation and clarity, "I was out with my girlfriend."

"Really, now," the judge beamed at Don and leaned forward, asking him a question he already knew the answer to, "And where were you and your girlfriend when the police picked you up?"

A blush coated Don's face as he replied, "Uh, Make-out Mountain."

The judge had to bang his gavel repeatedly to get the courtroom to quiet, his own ability to keep a straight face gravely at risk.

"Make-out Mountain, huh?" the judge further inquired, having gotten some semblance of control back, "Is that really a respectable place to have taken your girlfriend?"

"No, sir," Don sighed, "I suppose it isn't."

"And what do you think your young lady's parents are going to say when they find out you took their daughter there?"

"Quite frankly, my dear, we don't give a damn," Don couldn't help replying.

"Ow! Ow!"

This smart remark had warranted him both a cuff on the ear and a smack on the bottom as well.

"I'm warning you, Don Adam Eppes, if you use foul language one more time…" Aunt Irene pointed her finger in his face.

The courtroom was a bedlam of laughter, and the judge decided to let it roll.

"Well, now," the judge chuckled, "Let's see here, according to the papers you filled out last night, you come from a single-parent home. Is this true?" He was now addressing Aunt Irene.

"Yes," she nodded gravely. "It has been hard on the boys, losing their mother like they did. I think it's obvious that their father lacks the firm hand necessary to raise boys properly nowadays." Fairly shouting at Don, she added, "Apparently somebody isn't spanked as often as he should be."

The judge's eyes twinkled when the court broke out in a fresh chorus of laughter. "Yes, I would say that goes without saying. Now, madam, would you say that your nephew is a _good _child?"

"Yes, sir, I would say that he is. But I would be lying if I said he has never caused us any problems before." Then Aunt Irene went on to list every single thing that had ever landed Don in detention throughout his infamous years attending public school. To his amazement, Aunt Irene even remembered things that he himself had long forgotten, a small smile unconsciously forming on his lips as he thought about his previous escapades.

"Exactly what do you think is so funny?" the judge bellowed at Don, but with a smile continuing to lurk on his own lips.

"Ow!"

Aunt Irene tugged at his hair. "This is serious, Donny. Show some respect."

Completely frustrated with the proceedings and the pain throbbing in what were now three different areas of his body, Don lost his temper and shouted at her, "This is insane, Aunt Irene. I am not thirteen years old, and I'm not sixteen, either, and if you hit me one more time, I swear I'm going to…I'm going to…" Don's words peetered out as he noticed the judge was no longer smiling at him. In fact, the older man's face had set into a disapproving glare that even Don's own personal best was no comparison to.

Don began to fidget, realizing he had made a mistake in yelling at Aunt Irene and was definitely heading for trouble.

"Now, it seems that your aunt may be right about one thing, _Donny,_" the judge leaned forward, glowering at him. The older man knew that maybe he had pushed the agent's buttons a little bit too hard, but he was very old-fashioned and did not believe _any _situation warranted a person disrespecting their elders in the manner in which Don had just disrespected his aunt. "It seems to me that this is definitely one of those cases where sparing the rod spoiled the child."

Don's stomach started doing somersaults and backhand springs as he waited to see where the judge was going with this line of reasoning.

"With that in mind, I would think it more than appropriate that I be assured that this lack of disciplining will not occur again, that is, once Donny is released from my court room."

"Oh, rest assured, I will personally see to it that his father gives him the proper punishment once we are home." Aunt Irene nodded her head vigorously.

"Why wait till you get home?" the judge raised his eyebrows, "If you are correct and his father lacks the firm hand necessary to discipline him, wouldn't it be better if we took care of it now, right here in my courtroom?"

Don's body recoiled from the implication that came with the judge's words; stuttering, Don managed to say,"I think Aunt Irene is correct and it would be much better if this were dealt with by my father."

Aunt Irene further supported him by noting, "It really isn't my place to provide the boys discipline."

"Very, well," the judge nodded for an officer to escort Don away, "He can stay in the detention center until his father appears."

The thought of spending even another second in juvenile hall was too much for Don. He changed his mind and actually begged Aunt Irene to do whatever the judge requested. "I just can't stay another night here- _please_; I know whatever you do will be alright with Dad."

Relenting, Aunt Irene waved the officer away from Don and asked the judge, "What do you have in mind?"

A tight and wicked grin formed on the judge's lips. Without taking his eyes off of Don, he spoke to his assistant. "Tony, do me a favor and get that paddle hanging behind my desk. Not the small one that's cracked, but the big one with the holes in it."

Don's eyes went wide. Five minutes later, Tony returned with the requested item. The judge turned the thin piece of wood over and over, admiring the beauty of its craftsmanship. With the outcry against physically hitting minors (an opinion the judge actually shared in most cases, but not all) it had been years since he had last wielded it. Taking several swipes through the air, he was pleased to see Don's breathing hitch with each pass.

Believing it justice served that the one who had been disrespected by Don should carry out the punishment, the judge gave the paddle back to his assistant and indicated he should deliver it to Aunt Irene. Putting aside her purse, the eighty-plus year old woman turned the paddle over until she had a firm grip on it, and then looked at the judge for further instruction.

"Well, let me see. How many rude comments did he make? I believe I counted four. Let's give him one swat for each one."

Seeing the size of the paddle, and suddenly remembering from prior experience how effective it could be in causing pain, especially with the holes drilled into it all along its length, Don decided that maybe a couple more days in the detention center might not be a bad idea after all. "I think I've changed my mind," he stated to the court, "and will wait for my Dad to come get me."

"We are way beyond that," the judge said threateningly, "If you don't bend over and assume the position right now, I may change _my _mind and let Officer Schmitt do the honors. You do remember Officer Schmitt?'

Don remembered the big ogre all right.

_Okay_, he thought, _I can do this. How hard can a woman that age really hit_?

Don took in a lungful of air, and then turned to the side, his posterior now facing Aunt Irene. After one meaningful scowl at Charlie to not say a word, he leaned over and bent his knees, resting his arms on his thighs.

"And just for good measure," he heard the judge say, "so you don't forget the proper way to treat your aunt, who was kind enough to come here when you needed her and when nobody else would, let's make it two swats for each comment- a total of eight."

Don straightened up briefly, trying to argue with the judge. "That's not fair; you're giving me two punishments for every _one _bad behavior."

But he quickly gave up when the judge noted, "And I could also give you two for each time you disrespected me."

Don bent over again and braced himself as he heard the sound of Aunt Irene pulling back her arm.

Then-

_Smack!_

ONE!

Laughter continued to reign supreme in the courtroom, as the audience decided to participate and began counting the number of swats as Don received them, sixteen voices yelling much louder than the combination of all the other voices in the room.

_Smack!_

TWO!

_Smack!_

THREE!

_Smack!_

FOUR!

_Smack!_

FIVE!

_Smack!_

SIX!

_Smack!_

SEVEN!

_Smack!_

EIGHT!

The judge leaned back, finally succumbing to laughter as the members of his courtroom hooted and cheered, Aunt Irene graciously taking a curtsy, overcome by their encouragement and approval.

Don stood up with a groan, barely able to turn around and face the judge, his posterior sore and burning. He had unfortunately found that a woman Aunt Irene's age could hit _very hard_, and he briefly wondered if she was secretly a bodybuilder on the side.

"All right, I believe our business is finished here." The judge finally signed Don's release papers. As he handed them over to Aunt Irene, he admonished the aching agent, "I hope we taught you to show more respect for your elders- consider this a hard lesson learned." With that, he called the next case.

Don walked tentatively away from the judge, Aunt Irene pulling him by the hand and berating him for behaving so poorly. Robyn started to rise from her seat and follow them, but Don shook his head _no_, not wanting to upset his aunt with the appearance of his girlfriend and risk further physical repercussions. They were halfway up the aisle, Charlie trailing quietly behind them, when the old woman realized for the first time that her nephew was dressed only in his skivvies.

Coming to a halt, Aunt Irene exclaimed, "Why Donny! Where are your clothes?"

Don lowered his head in shame and mumbled a reply.

Feeling guilty for having to publicly spank one of her favorite nephews, Aunt Irene gently asked Don, "What was that?"

Not wanting to, but unable to prevent it from happening, Don let loose a long whine. "Some boys stole them from me last night."

Aunt Irene immediately grabbed his hand again, and tugged him back down the aisle. When they reached the main floor of the court room, she looked around, her eyes narrowing.

"_Which boys, Donny_?"


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Numb3rs or the characters therein. All characters are fictional, and should not be associated with any other person- real or imagined.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"I can't believe you brought Aunt Irene with you," Don moaned, gingerly climbing into the seat of his SUV. It had been almost three days since the old woman had swatted him, and he found his bottom was still surprisingly sore.

Charlie climbed into the passenger seat and looked sympathetically at Don. "Well, at least she got your clothes back. Your black leather jacket is the nicest one you own."

Don had pulled into traffic, heading towards F.B.I. headquarters. At Charlie's remark, he fingered the jacket, having put it on that morning. "Yeah, I can't argue with that." He couldn't help but smile as he remembered how his aunt had confronted the trio of boys. "Man, the looks on their faces when she started hitting them with her purse. I don't think I've seen anything as funny in my entire life."

Charlie smirked at Don. "Oh, I don't know about that. Personally, I think I've seen a _few_ _things_ that were funnier- and coincidentally, they all occurred on the exact same day."

The smile fell from Don's face as Charlie continued talking and started to laugh. "I don't know which is sadder- you getting swatted by an eighty-year old woman, or you getting beat up by a twelve-year old kid."

"First off," Don groused, "there were three of them, not one. Second, if they weren't on steroids, you can hand Aunt Irene that paddle again and I'll gladly take another licking."

"Well, consider yourself lucky that the judge decided to keep all the things that happened to you a nice, quiet secret. He probably figures you might have grounds for a lawsuit."

"Yeah, well, you better remember that _you_ swore to keep all those things between you, me and Aunt Irene."

"I know, I know. Believe it or not, I _can _keep a secret."

"You were never much good at it before," Don huffed.

He pulled into his parking spot, turned off the engine and carefully slid from the car, wincing once or twice from the pain.

"I hope this is the shortest Monday in the history of Mondays," Don said. He and Charlie fell in step besides each other and entered the elevator. "Before going up to my floor, I have to make a stop at the main entrance and see if Director Donaldson has arrived yet. He is supposed to be making a personal appearance today."

"Fine," Charlie said, "I'll tag along if that's alright. The computer's probably still on that new set of numbers I gave you Saturday."

Don noted that Saturday was the last time he had spoken directly to Robyn, the call ending abruptly because he had angrily hung up on her; she had refused to stop laughing whenever he tried to make her feel guilty about the whole situation. He knew it hadn't really been her fault, but he felt the need to blame someone. They had finally made up the night before, when she had left him a tantalizing message on his cell phone as an apology, and he had easily forgiven her, leaving his own message that he would be by Monday night, an attempt to break them from their weekly routine once again.

Though, of course, Don was adamant that they were going to stay in.

When the elevator doors opened, Don and Charlie walked into the main lobby of F.B.I. headquarters and were startled to see the room filled almost to capacity. Most of the people were lined up facing the walls, laughing and pointing at whatever had been hung there. Curious, Don and Charlie squeezed past the spectators, pulling themselves out between several agents and practically falling against the collection of photos arranged in one long continuous line from one side of the entrance doors all the way to the back wall, over and then back up to the opposite side of the front doors.

To Don's horror, he was standing two inches from a rear view of himself being cuffed in the ear by Aunt Irene.

Suddenly, the sea of people around him backed up two feet and he was given a loud applause as his eyes frantically looked from one picture to the next. He soon realized that, starting from the front door, someone had artfully posted a pictorial timeline of his day in court, starting from Aunt Irene's first appearance rounding up to his paddling and subsequent dismissal from court.

"Well, done Agent Eppes." A hand clapped Don on the back. He turned around and found himself staring into the faces of Merrick and Director Donaldson. Unable to speak, Don's mouth just sat loosely on its hinge.

Colby appeared out of nowhere, sidling up to Don and patting him on the back. "I told you he would refuse to take credit, but it was all his idea."

Don stood weakly in front of his superiors, not knowing what to say.

"You are too modest, Eppes," Donaldson continued. "Your team member here- Granger it was, right? Well, he told us how you set it up for the new recruits to visit a juvenile court room. Never would have thought of it myself, but with crimes among minors on the rise, it was a good choice to make."

Don nodded numbly.

"But to allow yourself to take the role of a juvenile delinquent, and then do a mock presentation like you did, all in order to show the recruits the improper and dehumanizing ways some people handle minors, well, that was just brilliant. Too many in the legal system think a person's age gives them a right to disrespect them. If our new recruits learned anything from you, they sure learned the consequences that come about when people don't know the meaning of the word respect."

"Oh, I'm sure everybody concerned is now thoroughly aware of those consequences," Colby said mirthfully, "though the learning process was much more _painful _for some than others."

Don glared at Colby, but was unable to remark. He was beginning to get concerned about how glibly Colby was talking about his ordeal. Something was up, Don was sure of it; but he didn't know what.

"Well, Eppes," Donaldson finished, "you're a good sport. I think the idea of allowing the new recruits to make a pictorial representation of their trip was a nice touch. It's always good for us old-timers to see things through the eyes of the younger generation, and good for the public, too. Now, we can only keep their display up a week, seeing as we have another one already set to go. But I'm sure that's longer than you could have expected."

_And about a week longer than I would have wanted, _Don thought glumly.

"By the way," Donaldson added, just before he and Merrick started to walk away, "I've put a commendation in your work file. It's not every agent who's willing to act so selflessly just to teach someone a lesson." Then the two men turned away, admiring the clarity of the photos as they transgressed down the hall.

Turning directly toward Colby, Don demanded, "What's your game, Granger?"

"I don't like to play games, Don- unlike you, I'm much too mature for that."

Don formed his hands into fists, started to say something, thought better of it and turned on his heels, heading toward the elevators, Charlie running after him to keep up. When they finally got inside, just before the doors shut on them, Don saw Colby walking around the lobby, with all fifteen new recruits surrounding him, each one lagging after the younger agent as if they were puppy dogs and Colby had a treat. Colby's face briefly turned Don's way and he was sure that the agent looked like he was in heaven.

"I overhead what Donaldson said," Charlie said quietly. "I don't understand it. Colby was really peeved at you on Thursday, why didn't he show everyone the pictures and tell them what really happened."

Don ran a hand nervously through his hair. "I don't know. Obviously, even though no one else knows what really happened, he still gets the satisfaction of knowing I'm embarrassed as hell."

"Yeah, that makes sense." Charlie followed Don into the bull pen. "But still, wouldn't his revenge have been sweeter if he had just taken it that one step further."

Don stepped into his cubicle and frowned. Sitting down with a sigh, he told Charlie, "You two think alike." Nodding toward his desk, Don noted, "He did take it one step further, and now I'm going to be stuck working late the rest of the week."

On top of Don's desk was not only the original huge pile of paperwork he had given Colby to do the previous Thursday night; next to it were fifteen smaller but just as neatly organized stacks of folders, donated generously by the newest fans of the Colby Granger Fan Club.

"Oh," Charlie said, a smile of understanding slipping onto his face, "I guess getting out of paperwork is much better than a couple days of laughs at your expense."

Putting his feet up and flipping open a file, Don made a face as he adjusted his seat and complained, "Yeah, well, I think he gets to take advantage of _both_ those things over the course of the next week."

A slip of paper fell out of the file and floated to the ground. Charlie picked it up and handed it to Don.

Reading what it said, Don groaned-

_Consider this a hard lesson learned- never mess with a Granger._


End file.
